


How Do I Love You?

by Jasleigh22



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I really do love her, John Loves Sherlock, M/M, Man-childness, Mean Mary, Platonic Affection, Platonic Cuddling, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock loves him too in his own way, Sherlock's a bit OOC, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:29:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3300920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jasleigh22/pseuds/Jasleigh22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock acts like a huge man-child, and John lets him because he loves him. How does he love him? Does he still love Mary? How much does he love her? Does he love her more than he loves Sherlock? I changed the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

If the walls of 221B Baker Street could talk, they would probably have a lot to say. So many things had happened in that flat. But none of them were as unbelievable as what was happening at that very moment. Sherlock Holmes was cleaning. Books were placed back on shelves, the sheet that the detective sometimes wore instead of clothing was back in his bedroom, experiments were cleared away, dishes were washed, and even body parts were properly stored.  
In all of the time that Sherlock and Joh had lived together, the detective had never even thought about cleaning. Even after John had moved out and moved in with his wife, Mary, he hadn’t cleaned. So why was he dashing about the flat cleaning now? John and Mary were coming over for dinner for the first time in over six months. As much as John had promised that things wouldn’t change, they had. In the beginning, he still came running whenever Sherlock texted if it was convenient, and if it was inconvenient, he came running anyway. He still stayed up for days working on cases with his best friend. He still fussed over Sherlock’s eating and sleeping habits. To John, everything was great…until Mary began to complain. In the beginning, Mary had explained that she understood the unusual relationship that her husband shared with the consulting detective and that she had no intentions of coming between them. This made John love her even more. He got to keep his exciting life with Sherlock without having to worry about ruining his love life. No more having to choose…or so he thought.

Sherlock was chipping away a green substance from the now-cleared table when he heard footsteps on the stairs as well as hushed voices.  
“You don’t live here anymore, John. Would it have hurt you to knock before just barging in?” Mary.  
“Sherlock doesn’t mind. He’d be more upset if I knocked and disturbed whatever experiment or case he’s working on. Trust me.” John.  
“Well in a normal home, you knock and wait to be let inside.”  
“Yeah well, when has Sherlock Holmes ever been normal?”  
Sherlock could hear the affection in John’s voice. He stood from his crouched position by the table and stepped into the sitting room right as the bickering couple reached the landing.  
“Hello,” John said, taking off his coat and hanging it up.  
Mary just nodded at him before heading into the kitchen with the containers of food. John had offered to carry them, but she’d just shrugged him off.  
John smiled apologetically before looking around the flat that he hardly recognized as the one he used to share with the detective.  
While the sandy-haired doctor looked around the room, Sherlock took the opportunity to observe his friend. Working more than usual. Not sleeping very well. Slept on the sofa last night. Lost at least half a stone. Hasn’t gotten a haircut in almost three months. Before Sherlock could comment on any of this, there was a shout from the kitchen.  
“Are these real bones?!” Mary was slamming a drawer shut when Sherlock and John stepped into the kitchen.  
“Cutlery is in the drawer on the end,” the dark-haired man said, pointing a long pale finger at the drawer before taking a seat at the table.  
John moved to help his wife. “You get on me about walking in without knocking, yet you’re in here rummaging through his kitchen.” It was said in a joking manner, but Mary shot her husband a deathly glare.  
The table was set and food was served. Mary rolled her eyes as John put together a small plate for Sherlock without a second thought while she got her own food.  
“Are you going to feed it to him as well?” she snapped.  
John sighed. “I just want to make sure he eats. If I don’t force a plate of food on him, he won’t eat. He’s skinny enough.”  
“He’s sitting right here,” Sherlock said in an annoyed tone as he glared down at his food.  
“Sorry,” John said, sighing again, “Stop glaring at your food and eat it.”  
Sherlock continued to glare at his food, but he began to eat as well. It was silent aside from the scrape of cutlery against plates.  
“So, Sherlock, any new cases?” John asked.  
Mary sighed heavily.  
“Just a terribly boring kidnapping. Not even a five. It’s obviously a pathetic act of revenge after a lost custody battle.”  
“Did you tell Lestrade that?”  
Sherlock just stared down at his barely-touched food.  
“Text Lestrade and tell him, so they can find the children.”  
The detective huffed and pulled out his mobile. His thin fingers flew over the screen of his phone. Once the text was sent, he returned his phone to his pocket, but made no move to continue eating.  
“Were you really going to just ignore the fact that children had been kidnapped and you were the only one who had any idea where they were?” Mary asked incredulously.  
“Lestrade and his team of idiots would have figured it out eventually.” Sherlock shrugged. “It’s not as though it was a murder. Had it been, I would have been on the case immediately.”  
“God, I can’t believe I’m sitting here having dinner with a psychopath.”  
“High-functioning sociopath.”  
“Freak.”  
“Mary,” John gasped, “that was uncalled for. Sherlock’s not−”  
“You can’t seriously be taking up for him. You heard what he said.”  
“Yes, but you don’t know Sherlock. You don’t−”  
“Don’t I? He’s a psychopathic freak, who thrives on death and violence and who has you wrapped around his finger.”  
“Mary, that’s enough. I know you’ve been angry with me for some time now, but do not take it out on Sherlock.” So caught up in their fight, neither blonde noticed the consulting detective slip away from the table, thing hands clasped over his ears.  
“Sherlock’s the problem, John. You’re so hung up on him and the life you had with him−”  
“You said you understood. You said you were okay with−”  
“I was then, but I’m not now. I expected to eventually grow out of this…whatever this is. That’s what happens when you get married. That’s what’s supposed to happen. I’ve put up with him for long enough. I could deal with him being a bit different, but I cannot deal with him acting like a bloody psychopath and you acting like that’s okay.”  
“Stop calling him that. He’s not−” Out of the corner of his eye, John noticed the absence of the younger man. “Oh God, where did he go?” the doctor said, running a hand through his hair.  
“Who cares?” Mary muttered.  
“I do. He’s more sensitive than you realize, than anyone realizes.”  
“Wouldn’t he have to actually have feelings for that to be possible?”  
“I don’t have time for this,” he said, standing from the table.  
“You’re seriously going to just leave in the middle of a fight to go looking for some freak who’s just looking for attention?” Mary exclaimed, standing as well, “Of course you are. Well, I’m going home. Once you decide that your wife is more important than some freak, I’ll be waiting.”  
Once she was gone, John immediately turned his focus completely onto Sherlock. Hoping that the younger man hadn’t left the flat, he decided to check his bedroom. Luck was on his side. The consulting detective was sitting in the middle of his rarely-used bed, his knees pulled up to his chest and his hands pressed over his ears. His bare toes dug into the duvet and his eyes were squeezed shut. He looked like nothing more than a very tall child.  
“Sherlock,” John said gently, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Grey-blue eyes popped open and his ands fell away from his ears. Though his face was blank, the shorter man could see the distress in those unusual eyes.  
“You’re still here.” Stating the obvious. That wasn’t like him.  
“Yeah. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”  
“I’m fine, John. Mary is not the first person to hate me, and she won’t be the last.”  
“She had no right saying those things about you. She was out of line. None of what she said was true.”  
“You don’t have to do this. You don’t…She’s your wife. You should go home to her.”  
“I don’t particularly want to see her right now.”  
“But…she’s your wife. She’s more important than I am.”  
“No she’s not. Not right now.”  
“I don’t understand.” John knew how much it cost the detective to admit that. There was pure confusion in his eyes.  
“You’re my friend, Sherlock, my best friend. I love you, and I care about you, and no one, not even my wife, has the right to insult you like that.”  
“But people insult me all the time.”  
“Yes, and that’s not okay, but it’s even more not okay when it’s my own wife.”  
“But that’s how it’s always been for me, John. Why should it be any different?”  
“Because you don’t deserve that, any of that.”  
“But I am different and not normal and a freak.”  
John’s heart broke at the earnestness in his best friend’s voice. “Sherlock, you may be different and not normal, but you are not, nor have you ever been, a freak. You are unique and brilliant and amazing and magnificent. You can’t have forgotten that in the little time I’ve been gone.”  
“You’ve been gone seven months, three weeks, five days, and seventeen hours,” the detective mumbled.  
“Really? I didn’t realize I t had been that long. No wonder I missed you so much.” John could see the shock in Sherlock’s eyes. “Of course I missed you,” he said, moving to sit against the headboard and wrapping an arm around the detective’s thin shoulders.  
“Mary doesn’t want you to see me anymore,” the younger man said, allowing his head to fall onto the other man’s shoulder.  
“Maybe, but that doesn’t matter.”  
“You can’t choose me over your wife, John.”  
“I can’t choose her over you either.”  
“So…what happens now?”  
“I think Mary and I could use a night away from each other. Would it be okay if I stayed here tonight?”  
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Sherlock said, lifting his head to give the other man a small smile.  
John suddenly had the strangest urge to kiss Sherlock’s forehead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I’ve changed the title. It’s no longer Sherlock is a man-child…etc. This title seems more fitting for where I believe this story is going. What do you guys think? Sorry if there was any confusion. Also, I'm sorry for going so long without updating this and my other story. I've been in a writing slump for the last several months, but I'm trying my best to come out of it.

Sherlock woke up alone and panicked. Where was John? Did he change his mind? Did he decide that Sherlock wasn’t more important than Mary and leave? The curly-haired man threw back the covers and flung himself out of bed, nearly tripping over his own long, pale feet. Not bothering to steady himself, he rushed out to the sitting room, which was empty. Before disappointment could set in, he heard the sound of tea being made in the kitchen. Of course John was up making tea. That’s what John did. Putting on an air of indifference for an empty room, Sherlock flopped onto the sofa, steepling his long fingers in front of his mouth.

John didn’t bat and eye as he walked into the sitting room, carrying two cups of tea. He sat one cup on the table near Sherlock before nudging his long legs out of the way so he could sit down on the sofa as well. He didn’t say a word when the younger man shoved his feet into his lap once he was seated. He just rested his free hand on one of his ankles. They drank their tea in silence, occasionally glancing at each other. It wasn’t until their tea was gone that one of them spoke.

“What are you going to do, John?” Sherlock asked as the older man returned to the sofa after taking their cups into the kitchen.

“I don’t know,” he said, pulling the other man’s feet back into his lap. His feet felt as cold as ice, so John wrapped his hands around them in an attempt to warm them.

“I can’t be more important than your wife.”

“I love you, Sherlock.”

“How?”

“What do you−?”

“How do you love me? In what way?”

“I-I don’t know. I just know that I do, and I want you in my life forever.”

“I love you too, John,” the detective said shyly, “and that’s why you have to go home to Mary.”

“What? But Sher−”

“She’s your wife and you love her. I can’t take that away from you.”

“But she−”

“She doesn’t like me. I know, but that’s okay. She doesn’t have to like me. There are plenty of people who don’t. You like me, and that’s enough for me.”

John stared at his friend in shock. He was being so selfless and sweet and so very un-Sherlock-like. But he was right. He did still love Mary, and he couldn’t just leave her for his best friend, especially when his feelings for him weren’t exactly clear. He had to go home to his wife. He had to, at least, try to work things out with her. But he wouldn’t neglect Sherlock again. He wouldn’t wait so long to see him again. Now that he thought about it, he’d really missed his mad genius of a best friend. He nodded and lifted the other man’s feet from his lap. If he didn’t leave now, he’d stay there all day. Despite the fact that Sherlock had just told John to go home to his wife, he could still see the disappointment in the younger man’s eyes as he stood to leave.

“Er, I’ll make you some breakfast before I go,” John said, licking his lips and going into the kitchen.

Sherlock bit his lip and followed the older man. He sat at the table and watched as John made two slices of toast slathered in butter and honey, a hard-boiled egg and another cup of tea. Once the breakfast was placed in front of the detective, John gave him a quick hug before rushing out of 221B.

* * *

 

The Watson house was very different from 221B Baker Street. It was neat and tidy. All of the furniture matched. There were no bullet holes in the walls. There were no experiments or body parts in the kitchen─ just food and milk. It was a very normal house. It was the home John always saw himself in one day.

* * *

 

John expected Mary to still be sleeping when he got home. He didn’t expect to find her sitting on the sofa wearing one of his jumpers with a cup of tea and red-rimmed eyes.

“I didn’t think you were coming home,” she said, sniffling pitifully.

Guilt filled John. What did that say about him that his wife expected him to leave her for his best friend? “Of course, I came home,” he said, sitting down next to her, “You’re my wife, and I love you.”

“You didn’t come home last night.”

“Yeah, er, I stayed with Sherlock. H-he needed me.”

“And what about your wife?” Her pitiful sniffling act faded a bit as her frustration threatened to shine through.

“I wasn’t even sure I’d be welcome home last night.”

“Of course I wanted you to come home, John.”

“Well I would have, but my best friend needed me because of someone’s rude comments, which he thought he deserved.”

Mary bit her lip so hard it started to bleed to keep from screaming. Her anger and frustration was clear on her face, but she pushed it down. “I’m sorry, John. I let my emotions get the best of me” she said, sniffling once again, “I know things have been a bit…tense lately, and that’s my fault. I’ve just been so scared.”

“Scared? Scared of what?” John’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Of losing you. You and Sherlock are so close. I know you care about him a lot. You said people used to mistake you for a couple all the time. I can’t help but worry…”

“Mary,” he said, sighing, “Sherlock is just my friend. Yeah, he’s my best friend, and I care about him very much, but you’re my wife, and I love you. You have nothing to worry about, I promise.”

They came together in an embrace, both hiding their faces against the other’s shoulder, a smirk on Mary’s and a grimace on John’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, it was difficult to write any affection between John and Mary. It's probably because I don't like my Mary.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short. Also, don't hate me.

The next time Sherlock got a call from Lestrade, he texted John. John said he’d missed Sherlock and that he wanted to see him more often, so maybe he’d come help him cases again.

Sherlock stood at the crime scene for over an hour waiting on John. Donovan and Anderson stood near the patrol car snickering.

“Looks like the freak can solve this one,” Anderson said.

“Maybe he can’t do it without his boyfriend here,” Donovan said.

“Anderson, Donovan, shut it,” Lestrade snapped before he turned back to Sherlock.

The detective was pacing back and forth, glancing between his phone and the crime scene.

“Sherlock, I need anything you can give me,” the DI said gently. He knew the younger man was waiting on John, but it had been almost two hours. The other man obviously wasn’t showing up. In fact, he hadn’t shown up to the last several crime scenes, but Sherlock hadn’t seemed to care before. He saw a flash of hurt in the younger man’s eyes before he tucked his phone away and started to rattle off deductions. Lestrade quickly pulled out his moleskin but he couldn’t forget the hurt he’d seen in the younger detective’s eyes.

Once Sherlock was certain Lestrade had enough to go on, he strode away without another word.

* * *

 

John was in the kitchen making tea when his phone chimed with a text message in the sitting room.

Mary grimaced as she picked up his phone from the coffee table.

_Crime scene. Gladstone Park. It’s a 6.5. –SH_

“Was that my phone?” John asked, walking into the room carrying two cups of tea.

“Yeah, but it’s just a spam message. I’ll delete it,” Mary said, pressing delete before she set the phone down next to her on the sofa.

“I hate those,” John said, kissing her cheek as he handed her a cup of tea.

“Me too,” she said, smiling.

* * *

 

A couple of days later, Sherlock was plucking away at his violin when his phone chimed with a message. He almost left it in the pocket of his dressing gown, but it could’ve been Lestrade with another case. He needed something to occupy his mind. He didn’t immediately recognize the number.

_Don’t waste ur time bothering John with ur stupid cases. He doesn’t have time 4 that. He deleted ur last msg and he’ll delete anymore u send him. He’s married now. He doesn’t have time 4 u anymore. He’s just 2 nice 2 say so. I know ur in love with him, but he’s mine. Try 2 get that thru ur thick skull. –MW_

Sherlock deleted the message and shoved his phone back into the pocket of his dressing gown. He grabbed his bow and started to play his violin as loud as possible.

“Sherlock Holmes,” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, storming into the flat, “cut out that racket this instant. You’re torturing that poor instrument.

The detective ignored his landlady. He stood and dropped his violin and bow on his chair and strode out of the room. He stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door shut.

Mrs. Hudson tutted and moved to place his violin and bow back in its case. “What has gotten into that poor boy?” she muttered to herself.

 

Sherlock lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with glassy eyes, fighting the urge to dig up his secret stash that was hidden underneath the floorboards. Instead, he retreated into his mind palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Mary use "text talk" just to make her more annoying.


	4. Chapter 4

   It had been almost a month since John had seen Sherlock. He'd thought Sherlock might start inviting him back on cases with him now that he knew that John wanted to spend more time with him. But he hadn't heard a word from the younger man. He knew it couldn't be that Sherlock hadn't had any cases. There was no way he could a month without a case or something to occupy his mind.  _But if he's had cases, then why hasn't he texted me about any of_   _them_ , the doctor wondered,  _Does he not want me to help him with cases anymore? Only one way to find out._

Any interesting cases? --JW

    John tucked his phone away and turned back to the movie he was watching with Mary.

"Who are you texting?" Mary asked, snuggling closer to him.

"Mike. He wanted to get together for a pint, but I told him I was spending time with my lovely wife," John said, kissing her temple. 

John didn't like lying to Mary, but he knew how she'd react if she knew that he was texting Sherlock. Little did he know, Mary knew exactly who he was texting. He made sure not to check his phone throughout the rest of the movie no matter how badly he wanted to. He knew it could take a while for Sherlock to respond though. He could have been in the middle of solving a case. He could have been caught up in one of his many experiments. He could have been busy in his mind palace. There could've been plenty of reasons why he hadn't responded to John's text. That's what John told himself when days passed and he still hadn't heard from Sherlock.

_I'll give it one more day before going over to Baker Street,_ he told himself on the third day of not hearing from Sherlock.

 

***

    The next day, John was on his way to Tesco's to pick up a few things for dinner when he caught sight of a familiar head of silver hair coming out of a Chinese takeout shop.

"Lestrade, hey," John said, smiling.

"John," Lestrade said, and did he sound a bit cold?

"How've you been?" John asked, "It's been a while. I don't think I've seen you since..."

"Since the wedding," Lestrade said.

"Oh wow, I didn't realize it'd been that long. I guess I've just been caught up in being married."

"Yeah, didn't realize you'd be one of those people."

"One of what people?" John frowned.

"One of those people who drops all of their friends the second they get married."

"I'm really sorry, Lestrade. Honestly, I hadn't thought we were that good of friends, but if you want-"

"For God's sake, John, not me," Lestrade exclaimed.

"Then what are you-"

"When's the last time you spoke to Sherlock, huh?"

"Oh um, it's been a few weeks. Mary and I went over to Baker Street for dinner a few weeks ago, and I even stayed over."

"A few weeks?"

"Yeah, maybe three or four."  _Or five or six._

"Have you talked to him lately?"

"No," John admitted, "I texted him a couple of days ago, but I haven't heard back from him. I assumed he was busy with a case or something."

"Only if it's one from his website. I've texted him with a case twice and he never responded. I haven't heard from him since that case you never showed up to about a month ago."

"What case? How was I supposed to know about it?" John demanded.

"Sherlock texted you. I know he did. Why else would he have been waiting on you to show up?" Lestrade said.

"Sherlock never texted me about a case."

"Yeah, he did. You probably just deleted the text or something."

"Deleted-" John gasped, "No- Lestrade I have to go." Without waiting for a response, John hurried away. He didn't even think to hail a cab. He ran the whole way to Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a long time. I've literally had no motivation to write. I got a little motivation and posted this using my phone, so if it sucks, that's why.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I do not hate Mary Morstan no matter how it may seem in this story. I love her to pieces. I really do. She’s obviously very OOC here, but someone has to be the bad guy, so John can Sherlock when he’s being a sulky man-child.
> 
> Second of all, I’m not going to lie, I don’t know exactly where I’m going with this story. I’ll probably add more chapters just because I love writing this story so much. The idea came to me when I randomly thought of John and Mary arguing and Sherlock acting like the child stuck between his parents’ fighting, which seemed really interesting to me. This is either going to be random instances where Sherlock acts like a man-child for various reasons and John allowing it or Sherlock and John developing a very close platonic relationship or both. 
> 
> Anyhoo, I just wanted to post what I have to see if anyone is interested in it.  
> Also, this story is post-episode 2 or Season 3(The Sign of Three) but without Mary’s pregnancy. His Last Vow didn’t happen here.


End file.
